


Sniffers McJingles

by bilexualclarke (ohalaskayoung)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, and everyone falls in love with him, based heavily on my actual dog, bellamy finds a sick pup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 04:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7028764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohalaskayoung/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look at him,” Octavia remarks one night over the fire, smirking as Argos sniffs the perimeter for the hundredth time (he sniffs everything), jingling as he goes. “A regular Sniffers McJingles over there.”</p><p>“What a guy,” Raven agrees. </p><p>or, the one where Bellamy and Clarke adopt a dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniffers McJingles

Clarke hears the commotion by the gate all the way from the med bay, where she had just sat down to eat her lunch. The yells are more out of excitement than fear, so she takes her time, swallowing her last bite of jerky before making her way out to see what’s going on.

 

The hunting party has returned early. They have a deer and a few rabbits, which is a decent haul for being gone such a short time. Miller shoots her a look as he walks past, one that says _you better get ready for this_ , and she’s striding forward through the crowd, curious. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not a dog.

 

More specifically, she’s certainly not expecting to see Bellamy clutching the dog to his chest like it is his most prized possession. He is letting people pet it, but glaring at them warily as they do so. His gaze softens when it falls on her.

 

“A dog?” she asks.

 

“A puppy,” he corrects her, shifting it gently in his arms. It’s a tiny thing, with fur so jet black she can barely make out its eyes. “They were going to kill him.”

 

“They?”

 

“We came across a group of nomads this morning,” Lincoln says, suddenly appearing behind Bellamy, Octavia at his side. “They had a whole litter of them, training them to hunt. This one is sick, wasn’t going to be of any use.”

 

“Sick?” Clarke steps forward, hand outstretched to touch the little guy, but she hesitates, glancing up at Bellamy. He gives her a small smile.

 

“It’s fine, go ahead.”

 

She scratches him behind the ears at first, and his eyes close as he lets out a soft hum. Clarke nearly melts into a puddle on the ground.

 

“He likes you,” Bellamy says softly.

 

“Well I _love_ him,” Clarke coos. “What do you mean, he’s sick?”

 

“He has some sort of blood disease,” Lincoln explains. “Our dogs get them once in a while. It’s not something we have the resources to heal, like a cut or a broken bone. We mercy kill them before it becomes to painful.”

 

“He’s too small,” Octavia supplies, “and he can’t move his back legs without crying in pain. Bellamy convinces them to let us take him, said that he thought you could fix him.”

 

She looks up at Bellamy, eyes wide. Sure, Arkadia undoubtedly has the best medical resources around, but she’s no vet. A broken bone she could treat on any living thing, but a blood disease in a dog? She is about to say no, that she can’t do it, but Bellamy is looking at her with so much hope in his eyes that what she finds herself saying instead is,

 

“I can try to run some tests and see what I can do.”

 

Elated, Bellamy leans forward and smacks a kiss to her cheek.

 

That’s a somewhat new development between them, starting a few weeks after they had all returned to Arkadia, all threats vanquished. It started without warning, with Bellamy dropping kisses on her cheek, her forehead, her hair, for the littlest of things. They’ve always been fans of casual affection (most nights come to an end with his head in her lap as she scratches at his scalp and twists the curls at the nape of his neck around her finger), but lips were never usually involved.

 

She can’t quite bring herself to complain, though.

 

“Let’s go, little man,” Bellamy coos to the dog as he takes off towards medical. “Clarke’s going to get you all fixed up, okay? She’ll make you better, I promise.”

 

Clarke learns that the dog’s name is Argos, and he is about four months old. According to what his former handler told Lincoln, he’s been extremely lethargic, hasn’t been eating, and seems very weak. Bellamy carefully lays him down on the exam table, and Clarke takes his temperature while Bellamy rubs his ears.

 

“Well, he definitely has a fever,” she tells him, sighing. She runs over his symptoms in her head again. “I think I might know what this is, but you’re not going to like what I have to do to be sure.”

 

She thinks it might be meningitis, but to be certain she has to do a spinal tap. The entire ordeal is risky, especially since Clarke has next to no knowledge about animal biology. But Bellamy asked her to, and he’s looking up at her with those pleading eyes that she can’t say no to, so she instructs him to shave a small square of the puppy’s fur right above his tail while she preps her materials.

 

The spinal tap confirms her diagnosis, and she figures their best bet is to treat it the way they would in humans. She prescribes a small dosage of a steroid, giving Bellamy a small cupful of the medicine with instructions to mix a tablet into his food with every meal. They’re lucky that Monty was able to use what they salvaged of Mount Weather’s resources to actually create medicine again.

 

“You should call him Patch,” Raven remarks later that night as they are sprawled in Bellamy’s cabin. Argos is on his lap, Bellamy rubbing soothing circles on his legs. There is a small patch of fur missing from where Clarke had to perform the spinal tap, and Bellamy eyes it with a frown.

 

“I was thinking about changing his name,” he says thoughtfully, “but he responds to Argos already. I don’t want to confuse him.”

 

Argos tilts his head up to look at Bellamy, and when he leans down, the pup licks his nose. Clarke feels her heart lurch, and she prays to every deity out there that the medication works.

 

It does.

 

It takes a couple weeks, of course. But eventually Argos regains the use of his legs and gains a healthy amount of weight. Clarke would argue that it’s more than healthy, but she can’t quite seem to stop everyone from sneaking him food off their plates at dinner. (She’ll never admit it, but she’s guilty of it, too.) Soon enough the frail, sickly dog that Bellamy first brought into camp is a healthy, thriving, chubby young pup.

 

Argos develops a unique relationship with everyone around camp. He likes to steal Abby’s socks and bring them to Kane, who wrestles them out of his mouth. He covers Monty in puppy kisses but rolls on to his back whenever he sees Miller, waiting for him to rub his belly. He likes to lay by Raven’s feet in her workshop, and she constructed a small fan to keep him cool in the hot space. He always walks with her to the mess hall for lunch, and due to his lazy nature and her leg they move at the same pace. When Octavia and Lincoln come to visit, he runs in excited circles around them, but once he calms down, he sits at Octavia’s feet and offers her his paw. Once she shakes it, he turns to Lincoln, who _always_ gives him a treat, and nuzzles his face against his leg.

 

He follows Bellamy around on guard duty, never straying from his side. When Bellamy is training, he sits with Clarke in the med bay. (Sometimes she hums while she works, and he loves that- his tail starts wagging and it thumps against the table in an adorable rhythm.) They are unanimously dubbed his parents, much like they are the parents of the camp, and even though he loves everyone in Arkadia you can just tell that he loves them the most.

 

It might have been his sickness or it might just be his temperament, but Argos is exceptionally calm. He likes to fetch and play, sure, but he is also so content with just laying around, maybe gnawing on some sticks. He never barks or growls, or has even so much as nipped at anyone. Bellamy does not believe that there is a mean bone in his body, and Clarke agrees.

 

“I wish he’d make some noise,” Bellamy says one night as he stroke’s Argos’s ears. Clarke rolls over onto her stomach on his bed, looking up from her book.

 

“He does make noise! He snores louder than you.”

 

Bellamy reaches up from his spot on the floor and yanks a lock of her hair.

 

“Hey!”

 

“I’m just saying,” Bellamy continues, “that it would be nice to know what his voice sounds like. Also, training him not to go to the bathroom inside our cabin would have been a lot easier if he would just bark when he needed to go out.”

 

 _Our_ cabin. Clarke flushes at the word, but Bellamy rattles on, meaning that the either didn’t notice his slipup or that he actually considers his cabin _theirs_. Clarke hasn’t slept in her own bed in weeks, and most of her clothes can be found in Bellamy’s drawers, but _still_.

 

(She isn’t sure which option makes her heart pound more.)

* * *

Harper and Monroe had fashioned Argos a bright blue rope collar a few weeks ago, but one night Raven presents Bellamy with two metal tags that he can clip onto the front.

 

 _Argos_ is carved into one tag. The other, in smaller print, reads, _Property of Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin_.

 

Bellamy blushes beet red and shoves Raven’s shoulder, but he puts the tags on anyway. Clarke doesn’t comment when she sees them, but he does notice her face turn red, and she scratches his head for a lot longer than usual before they fall asleep that night.

 

The tags bang each other whenever Argos moves, creating a light jingling noise. Now everyone can hear him coming and going, and they all look forward to hearing him jingle all around.

 

“Look at him,” Octavia remarks one night over the fire, smirking as Argos sniffs the perimeter for the hundredth time (he sniffs _everything_ ), jingling as he goes. “A regular Sniffers McJingles over there.”

 

“What a guy,” Raven agrees.

 

Of course, the name sticks. The only time anyone calls him Argos is when they’re calling for him to come to them or if he’s gotten into something he isn’t supposed to be in. For the most part, it’s Sniffers McJingles, occasionally Jingles or Sniffer, and sometimes Clarke can be caught calling him Mr. Sniffs. Bellamy is the only one who stands firm, calling him Argos no matter what.

* * *

Bellamy does the math and picks a day that he declares Argos’s birthday, and they celebrate with the biggest party Arkadia has ever seen. Bellamy gives him a heaping portion of venison for dinner and Clarke lets him lick a dollop of sweet cream from her finger as a dessert. He receives more presents than they can count: a brand new rope leash, a few bones of various sizes, a small stuffed toy that someone reclaimed from a bunker, a worn tennis ball that he pounces on immediately. They all watch in delight, drunk off moonshine as the baby of the camp celebrates his special day.

 

“Do you think he knows it’s his birthday?” Bellamy murmurs, nuzzling his face into Clarke’s neck. She threads her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.

 

“I think so,” she says, shifting so they’re leaning back against the log, their legs stretched out in front of them, facing the flames. “He’s having a great time.”

 

Like he knows he’s being talked about, Argos trots over to his parents and lays down next to Bellamy, prodding at his leg with his paw until Bellamy scratches behind his ears.

 

“He deserves it,” Bellamy says. “He’s one of the best things that’s ever happen to me, you know?”

 

“I do.” Clarke snuggles further into his touch, reaching over his torso to scratch at Argos’s chin the way he likes. “What are the other things?”

 

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, but the look he gives her speaks volumes.

 

Clarke kisses him that night, soft but sure. He lets out a choked laugh against her lips before kissing her back, rolling her over onto the mattress and whispering that he loves her.

 

They send Argos to Raven’s cabin with a note pinned to his collar. _You won the bet_ , it reads. They can hear her scream with delight all they way from their cabin ten minutes later.

* * *

Nearly six months later, Clarke loses a patient. Her name was Reina, and Clarke didn’t know her that well, but she had been monitoring her pregnancy for the last eight months. The woman was always a little too thin for Clarke’s liking, and she had fallen ill with the flu two days earlier. She went into early labor, and her and the baby didn’t make it.

 

Clarke drags herself back to the cabin in a daze. It’s nearly midnight, and Reina’s blood is still staining her hands. She had spent the last thirty minutes consoling Jaden, Reina’s husband, and she was ready to collapse.

 

Bellamy is there the minute she opens the door, pulling her into his arms and rocking her back and forth.

 

“I tried,” she whispers into his chest. “I tried to save her.”

 

“I know.” He kisses the top of her head. “I know, Clarke. You did all you good.”

 

He pulls her to sit on the edge of their bed and grabs a water basin, kneeling in front of her with a rag. Argos climbs up onto the bed and rests his head in her lap.

 

“I’m so tired of people dying on my watch,” Clarke says as Bellamy begins to wash the blood from her hands. Once her left hand is clean, she rests it on Argos’s head.

 

“I don’t want you to blame yourself for this,” Bellamy says firmly. “You’ve always done the best you could, Clarke.”

 

He finishes washing her other hand and moves the bowl to the side. Clarke looks down at him, her eyes shining.

 

“I’m so tired,” she repeats. “I’m just so tired, Bell.”

 

He climbs into bed next to her, pulling her into him so that her head is resting on his chest. Argos situates himself at their feet, licking lightly at Clarke’s toes. Bellamy rubs soothing patters over the skin of her back under her shirt, murmuring sweet things into her hair until she falls asleep.

 

A few hours later, Clarke wakes up. Her bladder is screaming, so she carefully extricates herself from Bellamy’s grip. Argos continues to snore lightly as she tiptoes past him, slipping out the door and going to relieve herself outside. When she finishes, she doesn’t head inside right away. The moon is full and bright, and she walks under its light for a few minutes, making her rounds around the camp. She feels better than she had when she first got home, but the weight of Reina’s death is still heavy in her heart.

 

“ _You’re a murderer_ ,” someone spits from behind her. Clarke whirls around to find Jaden, his clothes still covered in Reina’s blood. “ _You killed my wife_.”

 

“Jaden, no.” Clarke doesn’t move towards him, but she raises her hands, trying to placate him. “I’m so sorry about Reina, but I didn’t kill her. I tried to save her.”

 

“But you _didn’t_!” he cries, staggering towards her. “My wife and my child, gone by your hand. You killed them, _you bitch_.”

 

Clarke steps back when he lunges forward again, reaching for her. He’s got a good half a foot on her, and even though she can hold her own in a fight, she’s not sure she’s a match for his rage right now.

 

“Jaden, please calm down. You don’t want to do this.”

 

‘I want my wife,” he snarls. “I want my child.” He steps forward with each sentence, and Clarke keeps stepping back. “I want you _dead_.”

 

A loud bark from behind her startles them both, and before she can blink a black mass flies out of the shadows and onto Jaden, knocking him to the ground. Argos is on his chest, pressing him to the dirt, his teeth bared just centimeters from his face. He growls, a low and dangerous stands that makes the hair on the back of Clarke’s neck stand up. Jaden tries to push Argos off him, but the dog latches his teeth into his arm and Jaden cries out.

 

“Clarke!” Bellamy sprints up to them, gun in hand. He pulls her against his chest with one arm, the other training the gun on Jaden. “Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

 

“No, he didn’t get the chance.” Clarke looks towards Argos, their puppy who has never so much as scratches another person, now growling like a vicious beast. “Argos saved me.”

 

Bellamy swallows thickly. “Argos, heel.”

 

The dog retreats immediately, coming to sit at Clarke’s feet. Jaden rolls over, moaning in pain and grasping his arm. Bellamy hauls him to his feet and shoves him away form Clarke.

 

“Go back home,” he tells her. “I’ll take care of this one.”

 

Clarke nods, watching Bellamy drag Jaden away. She kneels down at scratches Argos’s chin. “Good boy.”

* * *

 

 They move to the sea three years later. Argos sits patiently next to Clarke as she stands by the shore, watching Bellamy splash in the waves with Miller. He nudges Clarke’s elbow with his nose, and she looks down at him and smirks.

 

“I know, buddy.” Clarke rubs her stomach, smiling at the soft swell. “I’ll tell him soon.”


End file.
